


Anniversary

by eternalbreath



Series: the cupcake chronicles [2]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-10
Updated: 2011-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:38:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternalbreath/pseuds/eternalbreath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Not your property anymore, in case you forgot," Arthur says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anniversary

"Martinez," Cobb says.

"You can work with him, but I'll be busy buying a plane ticket to another hemisphere." Arthur says, distracted, and closes the CNN tab on his browser and opens Twitter. People with iPhones on the street are more useful than the news.

"You can't keep turning down chemists," Cobb says. "We need a source."

"No, we need a _reliable_ source." The wound on his side is healed now, weeks later, but Arthur hasn't forgotten the fog of the pain mixing with the drug in the mix from their last failed job, their last backstabbing chemist, hasn't forgotten that if his asshole of an ex-boyfriend hadn't shown up he would probably be dead. "You're like a teen pop idol, people throw themselves at you and you let them. Success is going to your head."

"You researched Clements," Cobb points out.

"In two hours, on a train, with shitty wireless, one day before we met him." Arthur and Cobb had fought about it, viciously, and Cobb had won because Arthur still has trouble letting Cobb fuck off on his own even after seven months. "If I'm on point, I'm on point, and I can find us a chemist. If you don't like it I'm sure you're famous enough to replace me."

"I can help," Cobb says.

"No, you really can't, charm is useful for clients, but it's not a replacement for self-preservation." It's an old argument and one Arthur doesn't want to rehash.

"I'm not a criminal like you are," Cobb says, and they stare at each other across the overly floral hotel room for a long moment.

"Fine." Arthur closes his laptop.

"I didn't mean it like that," says Cobb softly, sitting up from his slouch. "Arthur."

Cobb is saved when Arthur's phone vibrates across his desk, skidding down the uneven surface. Arthur scoops it up like a lifeline even though he doesn't recognize the number. "Yeah?"

"Don't hire Martinez." The connection is terrible, but the order is unmistakable. He supposes Eames will never break the habit of giving him orders no matter how many times Arthur threatens to choke him with his own dog tags.

Arthur sits up. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"It's what we call a favor," Eames says.

"Do you have me _bugged_?" Arthur asks, even though he knows it's impossible. "We'll work with who we want. I'm hanging up now."

"At least hear me out first," Eames says. "You're a bloody liar, you'd rather chew your leg off than work with him. It's Cobb that wants to take so many shortcuts at the risk of your necks."

"You have one minute."

"Ah, that won't be enough," Eames says, and says something in the background in Spanish. "I don't mind at all to share my intel, but not over the phone, please, it's such a predictable way to be caught."

Arthur says, "I'm not afraid of him. Are you?"

"I'm not speaking about Cobb here, Arthur, don't be dense."

Arthur is torn. The last time he saw Eames he was drugged, he kissed him and likely pined, probably _out loud_. He's excellent at giving Eames weapons against him and he's not exactly clear on the details of that night. Eames hasn't voluntarily communicated with him in months and that combined with his mortification at having to be rescued pisses Arthur off.

It doesn't stop the desire that wells up to see Eames again, after going so long with him just another dreamer, a reputation, floating around teams and pointedly avoiding all work where his path might cross with Arthur's. The last contact they had before the ill-advised kissing in a dirty alley was over curt texts when Arthur had warned Eames that the extractor he was working with was an Interpol agent and to get the fuck out.

"What are you doing?" he hisses, because Cobb _is_ listening, his guilt replaced by curiosity. Cobb doesn't know that Eames was involved in saving Arthur's ass, doesn't know any of it, and Arthur doesn't want to start now, because reminding Cobb of Eames results in pissing contests Arthur doesn't want to have to clean up after.

"Saving your arse," Eames says. "I cared quite a bit about it at one point, and would like to protect all the investments I made."

"Not your property anymore, in case you forgot," Arthur says, mouth dry at the implication. "I can take care of myself."

"Oh, yes, you did so _well_ the last time." Eames says something else in the background, this time in German. "Did you like my gift?"

"I think you wanted to piss me off."

"I baked it myself."

"I'm lucky I'm not dead."

Eames makes a noise that could be a laugh or some sort of wounded noise. "Piss poor way for you to spend your birthday."

"I had no better offers." And that's the sad truth of it, Arthur thinks. That's the reality of his new life. Four calls from contacts in the business and an e-card from his mom. Cobb hadn't remembered, but Eames had, with rescue and stitches and safety and dry cake. "But thanks. For the — thanks."

He waits for Eames to say something, anything, but after a few seconds he knows nothing is forthcoming. He doesn't know why he's still waiting. They're just co-workers now; Eames had made that clear.

"What do you need that's so important?"

"Like I said, off the grid and away from your mad hatter. Four days from now, Port of Call, afternoon," says Eames. "Wear something relaxing, for pity's sake." He hangs up before Arthur can answer, which is good because Arthur wouldn't have been able to, anyway, his throat tight and a little dizzy from the spike of adrenaline. The third of June, of all the days. New Orleans.

Fuck Eames. _Fuck_ him.

"Who was that?" asks Cobb.

"Penelope, nagging me about your choices and my list of what she considers my failures," Arthur says, already mentally composing the email asking her to lie when Cobb inevitably snoops. "Martinez must already be bragging he got the job."

"Oh. Well, about that—"

Arthur opens his laptop again, because Eames is an ass, a cruel one, but he and Arthur both know Arthur will never say no to information. "I know, you already hired him."

"This job has five zeroes attached, Arthur. We need someone now, we don't have time—"

"I agree to handle it and him if we can push the date back by a week," Arthur says, unconcerned, already booking a plane ticket stateside. "I have something to do first."

Cobb raises a brow. "Anything to do with that call?"

Arthur looks up. Cobb doesn't really do facial emotion anymore, as if life now requires him to present stoic to the world at all times. Arthur can't read him these days. But Arthur isn't a mark and this isn't a dream, and in reality Arthur's shameful secrets are his own.

"Owe her a favor," is all he says, because it's a lie that always works, and stares at the email confirmation of his flight until Cobb looks away.


End file.
